


April is the cruelest month, But you're the fairest of the seasons

by astral_gravy



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Established Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Fluff, M/M, Poetry, fuck i suck at tags, it goes with the artwork, no beta but i fuckin' tried, references to the flood, references to the wasteland, soft bois, surprise bebop, who knows maybe I'll make this longer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-31 01:56:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21042011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astral_gravy/pseuds/astral_gravy
Summary: Crowley remembers the flood on a stormy day in the cottage, and his angel is there to comfort him.





	April is the cruelest month, But you're the fairest of the seasons

**Author's Note:**

> The bebop referenced is Nico's 'Fairest of the seasons'

A day in mid-April, A cottage in South Downs.

The rain came down in sheets, rattling the windowpanes, leaden sky just barely visible behind it.  
England had always been a rainy country as far as Crowley was concerned, but storms like this- the sort that buffeted the roof like the sky split open, the sort that made the bones of the house groan-These storms always gave Crowley a sickly stab of melancholy that festered in his gut, the hollows of his heart; unfixed his eyes as memories of the Flood crashed into his forebrain, rushing and violent as the driving rain.  
"Come here, my dear boy."  
The torrent of memories ceased for a moment as he turned to face Aziraphale, lying on the pillow beside him, his eyes so gentle, blue-water eyes reflecting Crowley within them.  
"I do know how you get in this weather, love," he whispered, his voice honeyed with concern. "Come close, my dear, and unburden your mind some."  
Crowley gladly scooted over to the angel, nestling himself warm and close, Aziraphale's breath ghosting his cheek as he laid his head back on the pillow, cherishing their nearness.  
"Penny for your thoughts, my dear?" Aziraphale inquired, as gently as falling eiderdown. He placed a hand over Crowley's pounding heart, flooding bare skin with radiant warmth.  
" 'S just- you know, Angel, you do. The flood and all that-it still hurts. I'll never forget, and I never want to, lest those who perished be forgotten. 'S my cross to bear."  
"Not yours alone, love," intoned the angel sadly, and placed a kiss onto Crowley's cheek.  
"My dear, your empathy is one of the things I love so dearly about you. But you must remember-and I hope you do- that no burden is ever yours alone to bear. I only wish that I had-could have-before." His voice became choked with tears.  
"Oh my dear, I am so sorry."  
" 'S alright, Angel, I'm just glad you're here. Didn't that bloke Eliot you like so much say 'April is the cruelest month', after all?"  
Aziraphale held him tight, burying his face in mussed russet hair.  
" He did say that, and most beautifully.." he demurred. "but here, with you, is always the fairest of the seasons."  
A smile broke on Crowley's lips.  
"BEBOP, Angel?!" Bebop? You're a bloody marvel!"  
Aziraphale blushed furiously, and the melancholy in the cottage was shattered by peals of laughter, which, like the rain, began furiously and tapered and softened, until a blissful hush fell over the cottage, replaced by soft breezes and light snores.  
  
  



End file.
